12 Grimmauld Place was rarely this lively. Everyone had gathered to celebrate a memorable occasion, and for some of the older members, it was also a good excuse to indulge in a drink or two.
Normally, they never dared to drink in case something urgent came up, but with Dumbledore present, they could afford to relax a little.
When Sirius returned with a bottle of Firewhiskey that had been in the Black family's collection for who knows how many years, he found that the others had already raised their glasses.
"Hey, why couldn't you wait for me?" he grumbled, setting the bottle down on the table. "You have no idea what you're missing out on. This vintage of Firewhiskey is so rare, even I couldn't find another bottle like it."
"That's fine, you can save it for Remus's wedding," Mr. Weasley said indifferently. "But for now, you'd better put that old bottle down and try this instead."
"Old bottle?" Sirius was momentarily baffled, wondering if he hadn't been clear enough. He instinctively turned the bottle to reveal the date—1859.
"Take a good look. This is Ogden's most classic Dragon Crystal Cask Firewhiskey, a true vintage. And you're calling it an old bottle?"
"Hah, it's barely 150 years old," Mr. Weasley scoffed, feigning indifference.
Sirius was even more confused. Since when did a 150-year-old Firewhiskey lose its appeal?
"Arthur's right. You really should put that bottle away today." In the end, it was Lupin who couldn't stand it anymore. He picked up an unassuming glass bottle nearby and poured the golden amber liquid into Sirius's goblet.
"This is the real deal… a thousand-year-old mead."
"Mead… Wait, how old did you say it was?" Sirius nearly jumped out of his chair, staring at Lupin in disbelief. "You're joking. I've never heard of a thousand-year-old mead."
"The process is a bit complicated," Dumbledore said with a smile. "But if you're just counting the years, then yes, that's correct. Why don't you try it for yourself?"
Dumbledore's words carried more weight than Lupin's, so Sirius hesitantly took a sip… and immediately set his Firewhiskey aside.
It wasn't surprising. After all, anything made by Helga Hufflepuff was bound to be exceptional. Even without considering the aging process, the taste alone was enough to impress—something any true connoisseur would recognize.
After a few more sips of the mead, the atmosphere at the banquet grew even livelier.
Once Sirius had settled in, the next event was the gift-giving.
Most of the gifts were for Harry. Since he was staying here, he hadn't been able to receive presents in advance like Kyle had. And this wasn't just any birthday—it was his seventeenth. For a wizard, coming of age at seventeen was a significant milestone, one that deserved a proper celebration. If it weren't for the unexpected meeting Dumbledore had called, even more people might have stayed for dinner.
Still, everyone had sent their gifts, even Mundungus, who—out of courtesy—had left behind a mailbox. A real one. No one knew which Muggle's front yard he had stolen it from.
Later, with Harry's permission, Mrs. Weasley had thrown it out.
Harry had actually considered giving it to Mr. Weasley, who had looked quite interested, but unfortunately, Mrs. Weasley was firmly against it.
So, Harry had no choice but to let it go.
At the dinner table, the adults took turns presenting their carefully prepared gifts, including Dumbledore.
His gift to Harry was similar to the one he had given Kyle—both were woolen garments. The difference? Harry's was… a pair of shorts. Or at least, something that resembled shorts.
Kyle couldn't quite understand what kind of mindset Dumbledore had been in when he came up with this idea, but he had to admit—after seeing Harry's gift, his own woolen short-sleeved sweater suddenly seemed much more acceptable. No, in fact, it looked downright reasonable. At least, when he wore it outside, people would only stare at him instead of bursting into laughter. That was already an improvement.
Fred and George had also prepared a gift: Twelve Fail-Safe Ways to Charm Witches. They figured Harry could use it.
Kyle had flipped through it out of curiosity. Honestly? It was nothing special—more famous than useful.
The book was full of outdated tricks. Single Muggle gentlemen had stopped using these lines a decade ago.
But Ron treated it like a treasure, while Bill and Charlie kept insisting on its merits to Harry. Apparently, wizards were a little behind in this department.
The banquet went smoothly. An hour later, Dumbledore was the first to rise from the table. He had many other matters to attend to and couldn't stay any longer.
Sirius had intended to see him off, but Dumbledore shook his head. Instead, he turned to Kyle with a smile.
"If you've finished eating, I'd like to have a few words with you…"
"Oh, of course," Kyle said, understanding Dumbledore's meaning. He got up and walked him to the door.
Outside, the moonlight was bright, but after filtering through London's thick sky, it cast only a hazy glow on the ground.
Dumbledore stood at the doorway, struggling to put on his robe with one hand. Kyle, meanwhile, stood off to the side, arms crossed, watching without offering to help in the slightest.
"I thought you might lend a hand," Dumbledore remarked, half-teasing. "I'm still not quite used to this."
"Oh, I assumed it was your new hobby," Kyle replied with a shrug. "After all, wandless magic isn't that difficult." He casually tossed his own robe aside, then flicked his fingers, and it flew right back onto him.
"Not everything needs to be solved with magic," Dumbledore said.
Kyle wasn't sure if he was reading too much into it, but something about Dumbledore's words felt layered. However, the old wizard didn't elaborate further.
Pulling his robe tighter around himself, Dumbledore carefully slid his immobile arm into the sleeve.
"I have some matters to attend to," he told Kyle. "I need you to promise me that you won't put any of your… creative ideas into practice until I return."
"What creative ideas?" Kyle blinked, momentarily confused.
It took him a few seconds to realize what Dumbledore was referring to—the plan to attack Voldemort using noise.
"Don't worry, Professor," Kyle said without hesitation. "I'm not foolish enough to go provoking…" He suddenly paused before continuing, "…the mysterious man wielding the Elder Wand."
Dumbledore's gaze flickered slightly. He had the distinct feeling Kyle was making a jab at him, but he had no proof. And even if he did, there wasn't much he could say.
After all, it was his fault the Elder Wand had been lost.
But Dumbledore didn't dwell on it. Having received the answer he wanted, he simply nodded and disappeared into the misty night.
Not far away, a drunken man stood frozen in the street, staring at them with his mouth agape, as if on the verge of shouting.
"Obliviate."
Before the man could make a sound, Kyle flicked his hand lightly. The drunk's eyes immediately glazed over. He rubbed them in confusion, as if wondering why he had stopped, then shook his head and staggered on down the street.
Kyle turned and stepped back inside.
By now, the birthday celebration had ended, and the conversation had shifted to tomorrow's wedding.
After a brief and somewhat rushed discussion, Lupin and Tonks had decided to hold their wedding the very next day.
Of course, Dumbledore's injury likely played a role in their decision.
After all, when even Dumbledore had lost the use of an arm and had his wand stolen, it was natural for people to feel a growing sense of unease. Wanting to push important matters forward as soon as possible was only logical.
But that was something for Mr. Weasley and the others to worry about. It had little to do with Kyle, Harry, or the rest. After finishing their dessert, they were promptly sent back to their rooms.
Once Kyle was back in his room, he finally had a moment to reflect on everything that had happened recently.
The first thing that came to mind was Harry's relocation. It had seemed like the perfect opportunity for Voldemort to strike—to finally kill the boy who had once defeated him. Everyone had expected that, from Kyle to Dumbledore to the rest of the Order.
But they had all been wrong.
Voldemort hadn't targeted Harry at all. Instead, while the Order of the Phoenix was focused entirely on Privet Drive, he had launched a surprise attack on another crucial location… the Ministry of Magic.
And he had succeeded.
Minister Fudge had been killed, delivering a devastating blow to their morale.
The Floo Network had been deliberately thrown into chaos, several important letters had been intercepted, and the Aurors' strategic plans had been completely exposed.
It was a massive victory for the Death Eaters. Without much effort, they had seized a significant advantage.
And then there was Austria.
Using Ollivander as bait, Voldemort had managed to disable Dumbledore's arm and steal the immensely powerful Elder Wand in one move.
Kyle wasn't sure if Dumbledore had a plan for this, but the reality was undeniable—the Elder Wand was now in Voldemort's possession.
Even if it hadn't fully recognized him as its master, wielding the most powerful wand ever known would still give Voldemort an immense boost in power.
To put it bluntly, perhaps Dumbledore was no longer a match for him.
Kyle leaned back in his chair, staring blankly out the window.
He couldn't understand why Voldemort had suddenly abandoned his obsession with Harry. Hadn't he always insisted on killing him personally?
Kyle had always thought Voldemort was extremely obsessive—maybe it had something to do with his soul being split into so many pieces. His fixation on the boy who had once defeated him seemed almost pathological.
He wanted revenge. By personally killing Harry, he sought to prove to the world that The Boy Who Lived was nothing more than a deluded joke, a false hope. He wanted to remind everyone that he, the Dark Lord, could never be truly defeated.
And he had always acted accordingly. There had been multiple occasions when the Death Eaters had the opportunity to kill Harry.
Take the Triwizard Tournament, for example. Barty Crouch Jr., disguised as Mad-Eye Moody, had kidnapped Harry, but Voldemort had insisted on killing him with his own hands. That was the only reason Harry had survived long enough for Kyle to intervene.
Or the battle in the Department of Mysteries—while everyone else had been fighting against at least two Death Eaters at a time, Harry hadn't faced a single one. He had practically been strolling through the place unbothered.
Even the spells the Death Eaters cast had carefully avoided him, as if they were terrified of accidentally killing him.
That, too, had to be Voldemort's order. He needed Harry alive, and none of his followers dared defy him.
All of this had proved how deeply Voldemort was fixated on Harry… so why had he suddenly given up on such a prime opportunity?
It was as if Harry had gone from being his ultimate obsession to a completely insignificant bystander overnight.
And yet, Kyle had to admit, letting go of that obsession had been a smart move. The Death Eaters had immediately gained an overwhelming advantage.
It was just... unfortunate for their side.
A sudden knock at the door broke Kyle out of his thoughts.
He opened it to find Chris standing there.
"What are you thinking about?" Chris asked.
"Nothing, Dad." Kyle shook his head. "Did you finish discussing the wedding details?"
"More or less. But there wasn't much to discuss," Chris said as he stepped inside. "Given the current situation, no one wants to invite too many people or make things too complicated.
"Remus and Nymphadora just want a simple ceremony with friends and family as witnesses. That's enough for them."
"Is that so?" Kyle nodded. "Just don't say that in front of her. It'd be a bit of a downer if the bride ended up brawling with the guests at her own wedding."
"Ah, I nearly forgot—Tonks doesn't like people calling her by her first name," Chris chuckled. "Good thing you reminded me. I was wondering why she kept giving me that weird look… and why her hair suddenly turned red."
Kyle smirked.
Tonks' mood always showed in her hair color. When she'd announced her engagement to Lupin, it had been a bright bubblegum pink.
Deep red or brown, on the other hand, usually meant she was annoyed. But for her to hold back and not correct Chris—that was unexpected.
They continued chatting for a while about the wedding. Kyle had originally wanted to handle the drinks—he figured he could just pour a couple of bottles from the Golden Cup and make Lupin and Tonks look good in the process.
But Chris informed him that Sirius had already taken care of everything. Drinks, food, even the wedding attire—he'd covered it all.
Kyle thought about it for a moment and let it go. Those two had been through life and death together; it didn't seem right for him to step in.
"By the way, are you staying here tonight?" Kyle asked, shifting the subject. "I remember there are still plenty of empty rooms upstairs. They've been cleaned, so you'd just need to tidy up a little."
"No, I have to head back to the Ministry," Chris said. "There's a lot going on, and I'll probably have to stay there for the next few days."
"That busy?" Kyle frowned.
"Busy, yes, but we also need to keep an eye on a few people," Chris said vaguely. "And actually, there's another reason I came to see you."
"What is it?"
"It's Minister Bones. She asked me to remind you that it's time to get back to work. You can't just keep collecting a paycheck for doing nothing."
Kyle felt a bit guilty—he had been deliberately ignoring that responsibility.
"But you don't have to go in tomorrow. Just be there the day after. And don't be late."
Kyle nodded.
Chris stood up, ready to leave, and Kyle walked him downstairs to the living room.
By the time they reached the bottom of the stairs, Mr. Weasley was already there, waiting. He also needed to head to the Ministry, so it worked out perfectly. Once Chris arrived, the two of them stepped out together and disappeared into the night.
Kyle turned back toward the house—only to catch sight of a group of people crouching by the dining room door, eavesdropping.
The most obvious ones were Fred and George. They were hunched over by the doorframe, pressing a strange, ear-shaped device against it. Whatever was happening inside was being relayed straight to them through the magical gadget.
Behind them, Harry, Ron, and Ginny had formed a tight circle, listening intently to whatever was coming through the ear.
Seeing Harry, Kyle couldn't help but think about Voldemort's sudden change of heart again.
Seriously… when did Harry stop being the favorite?
Was Voldemort really that quick to move on to something new?